


Landsmen

by Domenika Marzione (domarzione)



Category: Agent Carter (TV), Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Gen, Identity Issues, Jewish Character, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 19:46:57
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4234329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/domarzione/pseuds/Domenika%20Marzione
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Project Rebirth existed before Steve came into the picture. And the soundtrack for it was mostly in Yiddish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Landsmen

"Have you nothing better to do than lurk over my shoulder, Mister Stark?" Peggy asks as she organizes her notes. Her role within Project Rebirth is fluid and fluidly defined, often going by 'facilitator,' which can mean anything from making supply requests to buttering up officials to evaluating candidates to all of the above plus teaching the scientists (for the thirtieth time) how to use the Banda. Right now it is the first and she is collating the lists of chemicals and medicines Abe Erskine and his assistants have insisted they require. Which mostly involves deciphering terrible handwriting and consulting the translation sheet she's devised to convert science-speak to whatever it is the Department of War uses when it handles provisions. 

"Never, sweetheart," Howard assures, taking care to tap the ash from his cigarette in the ashtray on the far side of the desk, bringing his head close to her ear as she bends over her work. "You're the best thing to do here by far." 

She tilts her head to face him, their noses almost touching. "That's really terrible, Howard. Please tell me you haven't had success with that line."

While she's sure Howard is still half-expecting that she'll change her mind, he has accepted her lack of interest at face value. He still flirts with her, outrageously and without shame, but it's a game and one she's not afraid to occasionally play without fear that he'll misinterpret her parlay as interest. He's not unattractive and he's charming and surprisingly kind, but she knows he'd mean nothing by it and, besides, no girl wants to be compared to Jane Russell or Veronica Lake or whichever star last graced his sheets. 

Howard leans back and sits up, grinning. "You'd be surprised."

"No, really, I don't think I would," she sighs, then holds up Doctor Walker's list and points to one item, a chemical formula and not a written-out name as she'd asked. "What is this?" 

Howard holds the cigarette away so that it won't catch in her hair and leans forward, squinting a little. "Benzoic acid," he answers after a moment. "If you're ordering it from Uncle Sam, make sure you say 'reagent grade' or else they'll send you the stuff they use to preserve food. I'm sure Walker could use either, but he'll get cranky and he's already a joy to deal with." 

Raised voices from the other end of the large room indicate that Walker isn't the only one on short nerves. Abe is away today, off in DC giving a presentation, and with him has gone the soothing effect of his easy grace. Peggy was supposed to have gone with him because Abe tends to wander off when left unattended and come back with souvenirs. Sometimes they are in the form of a new candidate for Rebirth he wants to add to the roster and sometimes it is something more benign, like the tiny painted carousel that plays Joplin's "The Entertainer" when the top is wound. Colonel Phillips despairs of these adventures, whether they produce people or baubles, which was why Peggy was supposed to have chaperoned, but the Colonel has the duty himself after he got called to DC to justify the percentage of the SSR's budget being spent on Rebirth. Which Peggy is currently itemizing and authorizing on behalf of Doris, who is normally in charge of supplies but is out sick.

Across the room, by the large fan currently not blowing, Doctors Schwartz and Shapiro are arguing over something, the former pointing at the lab bench and the latter waving his arms as if to dispel fumes. Peggy can hear the words, but most of them make no sense because they are arguing in science terms. It's an academic argument, which she doesn't care about until they start throwing things; the personal disagreements she is much quicker about breaking up. It goes on for a few more minutes at ever-increasing volume, until Shapiro says something in Yiddish and storms off. The tension in the room dissipates immediately and there is some laughter, including a chuckle from Howard. 

"What did he say?" Peggy asks. English is the official language of the Rebirth lab, but Yiddish is the unofficial one, the language of frustration and jubilation and anger and affection. The project is documented in English, but it is lived in Yiddish and Peggy, like everyone else not already fluent in the language, has picked up words here and there. Mostly terms of endearment, addressed to both her and the test tubes of successful experiments, and the many ( _many_ ) ways to call someone an idiot.

"Hm?" Howard looks over at her, like he's forgotten she is right there. When he first joined the team, Howard didn't like being reminded of who he is ("was," he corrected, to which Abe memorably retorted that he didn't know moyels could sew that bit back on) because of what he had to fight through because of it. But compared to every other Jew in the room, he has hardly suffered and he is self-aware enough to realize that. None of the Jews on the project, European or American, are the least bit observant, even if they won't all be ordering shrimp cocktails and pork chops at the next holiday party. But that did not stop many of them from having to pay an appalling price for their faith. Abe is not the only one to have lost his family, the only one to flee with only what he carried on his person - and his life. Doctor Shapiro was the chairman of the pharmacology department at the University of Graz before he was forced to turn his research over to HYDRA to avoid imprisonment and then escaped to America. The stories are all horrifying and Peggy, who had never known a Jew personally before coming to work at the SSR, is deeply ashamed in a way she couldn't properly explain if asked. Thankfully, nobody has.

"What was the punchline?" she prompts.

Howard grins, a little nostalgic, maybe. For all that he is a man of science and has little time for anyone's god, there is a part of being Jewish that is cultural and that, she thinks, he misses a little. He packed his parents off to Florida years ago, buying them a mansion and, because they hated the idleness, a storefront near Fort Lauderdale that they have apparently turned into a mini produce empire. He goes nowhere near the Jewish enclaves of the city and won't be seen going to any of the Jewish comedians or vaudeville entertainers. He has carefully and intentionally cut all ties to the little Jewish boy who was Howie Stark and Peggy doesn't think he regrets it, but there are perhaps moments when he comes close.

"Literally, it means 'I'm going to get you in the bath,'" Howard replies with a careless shrug. "Not-so-literally... well, it's an invitation to commit an act that would get you a very dirty sideshow at the carnival."

He leans forward again. "Although I know a club over on Eleventh that's been known to offer a few variations on the theme if you're up for it."

" _Howard_ ," she chides. She doesn't look up, but she can hear him chuckle. They both know she isn't really shocked. "Are you planning any such sideshows for your Expo?"

The Stark Expo is in three months and Howard is already heading out to Queens a few times a week to watch it come together. Peggy had accompanied him once and thoroughly enjoyed the experience, even though it had been early in the construction and the grounds were mostly stakes and frames and tentpoles. Howard had walked her through it anyway, describing what each empty space would become, and his vivid imagination was made real by his words -- she could see the exhibits, the lights, the colors, the crowds. She'd understood how much of a visionary he really was and how much he enjoyed both the act of creation and the spectacle of showing off what he'd done. It was arrogance, yes, but a warranted pride and a more simple joy of sharing a wonderful thing that he happened to have come up with. It was charming, if not charming enough to let him work his way into her knickers on the way back to Manhattan.

"I tried," Howard says with a grin. "World's Fair had its share of dishabille and maybe my vision of the future does, too. But Bob Moses threatened to repave the entire Grand Central Parkway during the Expo if I so much as had a single bared breast, so no."

A crash nearby, the sound first of breaking glass then excited shouts and they both get up because, it turns out, that Doctor Godzich has dropped a beaker of something acidic that is eating away at the tile and concrete floor and there is a debate about whether to pour something basic on top or simply get the mop. The chance of the acid eating the mop is deemed less risky than causing an explosion and bringing down the lab itself, so Lionel the Janitor is summoned and Peggy returns to her tabulations. And to figure out how to order a couple of floor tiles. And maybe a mop.

Abe returns the next day with a box of salt-water taffy and a teacup with someone who is supposed to be Martha Washington painted on the side. And Colonel Phillips, who looks to have a case of dyspepsia not improved by the the quick concrete patch job Lionel has performed (Lionel, bless him, doesn't even react to what goes on here anymore) and the promise that there are matching floor tiles on rush order because Doris has returned and knows how these things work.

The taffy gets passed around and Howard shows up in the afternoon with a box of "tchotchkes" for Abe, which turns out to be samples of the souvenir trinkets for the Expo.

"Who better to judge these things?" Howard protests when Peggy gives him a look. "Besides, if we give him everything now, he won't pick up anything later."

They both know that's not true. "He's just going to find something else," she says, eying the little pewter convertible car with sideways wheels. "Or some _one_ else."

He does, of course, but under the circumstances, it is well forgiven.

**Author's Note:**

> [This was also posted to Tumblr](http://laporcupina.tumblr.com/post/109600612909/cap-agent-carter-drabble-landsmen) if you do that sort of thing.


End file.
